


Courtship

by Hanna



Series: Honour Thy Father [2]
Category: Thor (2011)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Past rape/noncon, Rape Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-03
Updated: 2013-08-03
Packaged: 2017-12-22 06:51:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/910209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hanna/pseuds/Hanna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thor and Sif rebuild their friendship from before the occupation and slowly it turns into more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Courtship

**Author's Note:**

> Would you believe I've been working on this for a year. Ever since I posted the original Honour Thy Father fics I've been trying to get it done.

**Courtship**

The ice has not melted yet.

It is strange, to be taken from her home in chains, leaving a gleaming golden city behind her and returning to a strange blue palace, cold and dead. She’d taken to wandering around when she first returned, trying to find anything familiar. Her old room is unrecognisable. The tapestries in the feasting hall are ripped and replaced by ones with the Jotnar invasion and occupation as the subject. She gleefully participates in the burning of them. The gardens are iced over. Hogun, Fandral and Volstagg are gone- dead, Thor said, voice broken. It was the second thing he said to her. The first was to apologise over and over again until she shut him up.

Asgard is not the only thing that has changed.

Thor is hunched, distant, terrible guilt, anger and shame in his gaze as he perches on his throne, staring into the distance, discomfort in his every line. She swallows. She wants to comfort him, but knows that he will not accept it.

Knows, because she’s heard the stories, and if it was her who had suffered so, she would not accept comfort.

XX

She finds him in the training yard with Mjolnir, smashing the ice furiously, splintering the ground, screaming his pain and anger to the sky, and knows better than to interrupt him. She turns away and leaves him.

XX

When she hears the Allmother is sick she rushes to the healing rooms to find Thor sitting beside her, clutching her hand, sobbing and begging her not to leave him, not now. Awkwardly she tries to fall back but he looks up at her and hurriedly drops his mother’s hand.

“I… Sif.” He turns away and she stammers uncomfortably.

“Thor, I didn’t mean to interrupt…” he shakes his head and she finds his raw openness strangely compelling. She has only ever seen him as a warrior. Maybe if she’d been in Asgard during the occupation she’d not find this strange, but she was not. She was on Jotunheim, taken as a prize and locked up. A snarl contorts her features as she remembers how she grabbed the Jotun’s own sword when she heard that the Aesir had liberated Asgard and ran him through with it.

The shock on his face had been worth all the pain.

The last time she saw Thor it was on the field of battle, his red cape soaked redder by blood, thunder crackling off him, swinging Mjolnir and sending a Jotun to Hel.

It is strange to see him now, weeping like a child. Cautiously she approaches him.

“Thor?” she asks softly and he turns to her, his face, his eyes, full of things she cannot name. He turns to the Allmother.

“She kept me sane,” he says. And that’s all he can say. He’s crying again and Sif uncomfortably offers her hand. He takes it, clutches it, and she is struck by how very vulnerable this Thor is and how she doesn’t know him at all.

XX

She seeks him out in the royal quarters only to find them empty. Frowning, she looks for any sign of where Thor might be. Before she would have said the training yards or feasting hall, but the training yards are empty and iced over and there is no feast, hasn’t been since Asgard’s liberation. Too many are missing and dead to celebrate. The golden city is still encased in ice.

When she finds the smashed links of golden chains littering the floor amongst ripped green fabric and locks of blonde hair Sif knows suddenly, intimately, what she will do to Loki if she ever gets her hands on him. She can see an indent in the floor beside the bed where someone has obviously knelt for a long time and cannot, does not want to imagine Thor, her friend and her king, on his knees. Yet she knows that he spent more time than she can imagine on them.

At least she was simply kept locked up unless she was wanted.

Fury fills her and she suddenly grabs a handful of the fabric and chain links and obliterates them in her hand.

Light footsteps announce that someone else has arrived and she turns to see Thor watching her quietly.

“It’s over now,” he says softly. She has to strain to hear him. He is quiet, timid, almost fearful. She doesn’t want to think about why that is but can’t stop the images of heinous punishments and Jotnar pinning him down on the cold, icy ground, holding him open and raping him into compliance from filling her. To her disgust she feels tears prick her eyes and stares away from him but he crosses the threshold to go to her, shuddering and averting his eyes from the bed and the floor where the indents of his knees are.

He holds his arms out and she abruptly leaves before she accepts the embrace, unwilling to show her weakness, unwilling to accept his.

XX

Thor goes to the Allmother’s side again and this time Sif comes with him. She is unwilling to let him out of her sight. She has seen so few she knows from the days before. The warriors went down fighting- most of them. Old shame floods her. She was prepared to die to defend Asgard, embraced the darkness that overcame her- but when she woke up and saw the chains around her wrists and felt her strength gone she was hard pressed to contain her despair.

Thor, for his part, seeks her company out the times he is not required to govern Asgard. And today he has asked her to see the Allmother with him.

“I didn’t see her much,” he says softly. “She was here, in Asgard, but the price for her safety was…” he pauses, disgust and shame marring his features, and she nods in understanding. He reaches out and squeezes her hand. She hesitates but squeezes his back, seeing his need for comfort, to show his feelings where the populace cannot see him and judge him for his weakness, recognising the need intimately.

XX

It’s almost like meeting him for the first time, like he’s a total stranger. Because, really, he is. The Thor she left behind was brash, confident and angry, furious at the Jotun and at Loki, and even that was different from the man who fervently defended his brother to his last breath no matter what he did, who was arrogant and laughed loudly and often. He was burdened as king. He rarely slept, rarely ate, rarely laughed. He grieved.

But at least she could still see him in there, the Thor she had adventured, trained and grown up with. Now… now he’s gone.

His blue eyes are hard, utterly mistrustful, always searching out an ulterior motive behind every action instead of the wide, childishly trusting eyes of his youth. He is lean, muscles wasted, and has not the body of a warrior, though he is bulking out again. He speaks little and softly, mumbling when she asks him what he’s said, saying it's not important and not to worry about it. His hair barely reaches his neck and when she expresses her disgust that Loki would cut it and dishonour him so he averts his eyes and she has the distinct feeling that it wasn't Loki who did it, though she doesn't ask. He rarely eats and never drinks. He skitters around rooms, hugging the walls. And he always looks so tired.

She grieves the loss of the Thor she’s always known.

XX

One day Sif persuades him to spar with her. They go to their old sparring ground, and he stands uncertainly for a long time in the centre of the ring, gripping Mjolnir as if he has no idea what to do with her. She understands the feeling, remembers her own uncertainty when she took the Jotun’s sword in her manacled hands after so long of not wielding a weapon.

So she attacks first, and his counter is instinctive. He stares in shock at his own hands when he sees how easily it still comes to him, then grins slowly and takes Mjolnir more firmly in his grasp, a gleam of the old Thor in his eyes.

This time, he attacks first.

XX

Sparring becomes regular for them, a way to get back in shape, to take control of their own bodies and lives again. After they walk in the garden that is slowly melting in silence and she sees his eyes skittering around, avoiding places she is sure things happened to him in. She once offers that they could walk elsewhere and his back straightens. His chin juts out stubbornly, and she suddenly sees _Thor_ in him, in his determined blue eyes.

“I will not run,” he insists, and strides ahead of her.

XX

They hear the rumours. Sif is always with their King, they say, Sif will be their queen. She scoffs at them and Thor recoils at the implication that they are involved, fear in his eyes.

She stands beside him when he is on the throne and gives him advice, as she is one of the few he still trusts. She’s there when the Vanir arrive.

“Your Majesty,” they offer Thor with a bow and he greets them with a stiff incline of his head. “We waited to let Asgard recover before coming to you.” Thor examines them suspiciously. “We just want to let you know that we stand beside you.” Thor nods, dismisses them, and returns to his quarters after.

Where he laughs and laughs and laughs, a bitter, choking laugh that turns into tears. Sif stands by uncomfortably as he rants at the ceiling.

“Where were you when Asgard was brought to her knees?” he rails. “Where were you when we needed you? Why did you let the Jotun take us? And now you’re back, offering your service. Why didn’t you help us against Loki?”

It is the first time she has heard him utter his brother’s name since her return, and he stills at it, choking sobs cutting him off as he pitches forward in exhaustion, onto his knees, and she moves forward and helps him up and into his bed. His hands scrabble at her.

“Stay,” he pleads, eyes wild and red with tears, and she nods slowly, settling, and finds that having warm Aesir flesh beside her calms her too as she wraps her arms about him for her own comfort. Memories of a hundred nights the flesh in the bed beside her was cold and more she was alone makes her cling to him tighter, tears coming to her eyes, and she doesn’t stop them, doesn’t try to hide them from him. Together they cry until they fall asleep, and when she wakes up he is still there, warm, solid and real.

XX

Something changes after that night. Sif learns to accept this new Thor instead of searching for the old one, and Thor starts to confide in her.

The Allmother lies in the healing chambers still, locked in her own mind, and they regularly visit her. Each visit she learns more about the Jotun occupation of Asgard. He tells her that Loki let him see the Allmother as a reward for good behaviour and barred him from her as punishment. He tells her how he watched her retreat into herself, unable to cope with what was happening around her, about how they used to pretend that all was well but their visits descended into silently clinging to one another. He tells her about the time he broke down and begged Loki on his hands and knees not to bar him from her after he’d been particularly bad, and how he grovelled at Loki’s feet after in his gratitude, with bitter shame in his voice.

She listens, lets him talk, lets him bleed out the poison, and after a time she begins to tell him of the room she was locked in, icy and cold, and how she would huddle under the blanket and just pray to the Norns. She tells him how she stopped fighting her captor, just let him do what he wanted in the hope he would go away faster. She tells him that she forgot what to do with a weapon, that when she tried to remember her drills she came up short, about her fear that she was losing herself.

He offers her an embrace most days. When finally she accepts it and sobs against his chest he plants a gentle kiss on her forehead.

XX

They only ever speak of the past in the Allmother’s healing chambers. They share a bed for comfort, ignoring the rumours they are fuelling, and neither speaks of their nightmares. They hold counsel about the governing of Asgard until Sif might as well be their unofficial Queen.

When finally the Allmother wakes, Thor flies into her arms and refuses to let go of her, and she holds him tight, strokes his hair, whispers soothing things into his ear as he sobs like a child into her lap, clutching her skirt, and Sif leaves the room.

Later she visits the Allmother alone. She looks terribly frail.

“Thor told me what you’ve done for him,” she says, voice composed but strained. “I wanted to thank you.” Sif shrugs.

“He’s my friend,” she says. The Allmother embraces her.

“Thank you, daughter,” she breathes against her hair before she lets her go.

XX

It’s not uncommon for her to dream of Thor but always she dreams of Thor as he was. Tonight she dreams of him as he is, sitting at the feasting table in a room full of people, but he’s looking straight at her as if they’re alone, smiling in a way she hasn’t seen him smile in a long time.

It is a good dream.

XX

When she first saw Thor after returning to Asgard, all jumpy, thin and covered in cuts and bruises, his hair roughly hacked off below his earlobes, she gasped out loud. His eyes caught hers in desperation and she could not look away. Then he was there, holding her tight, trying not to cry, and whispering- honestly whispering, so softly she had to lean forward to hear what he was saying- into her shoulder.

“I’m sorry sorry so sorry I’m so sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m so sorry,” he whispered until she put her hand over his mouth and he fell instantly silent with a deep shudder, his head dropping and his eyes, when she looked down, on the ground.

“It’s alright,” she said awkwardly and he sagged into her arms, his tears spilling freely. The strongest warrior she knew was sobbing into her arms.

She’d never been so scared in her life.

XX

She looks around the garden. She’s waiting for Thor, but he hasn’t arrived yet. He told her once that he was taken here for being disobedient and she understands that he is trying to reclaim the spots he was defiled in and replace the bad memories with good.

He is strong- so very strong. But when she tries to tell him that his face darkens and he turns away and she knows he’s thinking about how he surrendered, broke, and hating himself.

“It was the right thing to do,” she tries to assure him but he never believes her.

He arrives then with a silence she’s not used to; she can barely hear his footfalls.

“Sif,” he greets quietly and she jumps and turns. He’s almost smiling. “I apologise for being late.” She waves it off.

“I was just admiring the garden,” she says. It’s starting to melt, and the half melted trees are oddly beautiful. The dead grass beneath them is not, but it will grow back. Asgard has talented gardeners and Idunn managed to survive the occupation so they won’t be short of apples any time soon.

Thor has a basket of food in his hands and a blanket over his shoulder. He spreads the blanket on the ground and offers Sif the basket. She chooses a golden apple and a thick slice of bread before buttering it as Thor goes about selecting his own food. They eat in silence, quickly, as if the food will be taken from them if they tarry.

When they’re done Sif breaks the silence.

“So, what happened here?” she asks finally. Thor frowns at her. “You make a point to visit the places where stuff happened- what happened here?” Thor laughs.

“Nothing,” he says, then laughs again. “Nothing,” he repeats, wonder in his voice.

XX

One night Thor wakes from a nightmare, tears streaming down his cheeks, and he gasps out loud and clutches Sif, hold her tight to his chest, sobs into her shoulder. She holds him, holds him tight, and he slowly calms down. When he has finally stopped crying he stares into her eyes, and she can hardly breathe. The moment is intimate, the air charged. She wants to reach for him, but doesn’t know if he can accept that touch, if she can give that touch.

His breath is quiet and a shaking hand ventures to touch her cheek, hesitantly. She feels something in her gut clench and reaches out to intercept it, winding her fingers through his. He lets their hands drop to the bed and they sleep like that, hands still joined, fingers entwined, wake the same way.

He seems hesitant to pull his hand from hers, and she knows the feeling.

XX

They start to hold hands more, become more confident with reaching for each other as time passes. They learn the other’s tiny flinches, the way their faces close over and their eyes go blank as they retreat within. They learn when they crave contact, the way Thor’s eyes dart to her repeatedly and he grips the fabric of his tunic to stop himself from reaching out, the way Sif twitches and closes her eyes with a long exhale, setting her jaw.

They learn the damage the other has suffered, their triggers. Thor is sensitive to mocking words and people bowing to him, tensing, anger in his eyes; Sif cannot stand being alone with the door shut. She always leaves the door open, as many windows open as possible, and spends as much of her time as she can outside, just tilting her head back and breathing in the fresh air.

Asgard is colder, though the constant winter is gone. Many Aesir choose to remain inside on especially cold days, though equally many seek the outdoors; it goes without saying that they are used to the cold by now. Those with Jotun blood especially go outside and just sit, breathing the cold air in deeply.

Thor cannot stand it when Sif sleeps at his back, often waking in the night stiff and terrified, so she curls into his chest when she needs the comfort and he can give it. He rubs his wrists often as if to make sure there are no bonds there, touches Mjolnir's leather grip in order to assure himself she is still at his side. He cannot look at the side of his throne and Sif knows that is where he was chained during public audiences, though he hasn't said so and she doubts he ever will.

For a long time they don't attempt any more than hand-holding and sleeping curled. They are both scared, though neither will admit it, and neither bring it up.

Finally Thor shuffles his feet and stares at the ground. His breath is very fast and when he raises his head, briefly, there is terror in his eyes.

"I," he begins, and Sif starts shaking. She knows what he's going to say.

"Thor," she begins, and her voice is trembling. "Thor, I can't-" Thor takes a step back, opens his mouth and she knows he is going to apologise.

She desires Thor; she wants him so much it scares her; and as much as she is terrified of the thought of _doing_ anything, of sleeping with anyone, she is equally sure that what had happened will not stop her from doing anything she wants to do, especially not with the man she has loved for centuries.

She moves close and presses her lips against his before he can apologise. He is stiff beneath her and her heart hammers but eventually she feels him grip her hand and return it, hesitantly.

Soon after he pulls away and their eyes meet. They say nothing, but don't need to.

A nervous laugh bubbles through her and he soon joins in; they are clutching to each other for balance soon after, tears streaming down their cheeks, tears of relief and disbelief, and it becomes the most passionate embrace either has shared with anyone in centuries.

XX

After their kiss they become ever more determined to move on. They kiss again and again, and each time it gets easier. They slowly stop freezing up at intimate touch, oh so slowly. Sometimes Sif breaks and flees and Thor lets her calm down before following her and sitting beside her, not touching her, letting her cry into his shoulder when she is ready. Sometimes Thor freezes, so still he might be dead if he it wasn’t for his racing heart and trembling hands, and when Sif steps back he sinks to his knees and just fixes his gaze on the floor. He flinches away from her if she touches him but she cannot leave him be. She hates more than anything seeing him on his knees. He comes back to himself slowly, and if she talks to him he snaps out faster.

She would tell him stories of the past but they all involve Loki and that name has only on a handful of occasions, few enough that she can count them on the fingers of one hand, passed between them.

She doesn’t know even a fraction of what happened to Thor in the last thousand years, she is becoming increasingly aware. She knows stories, she knows what little he has said (and he has said nothing about his hair though she has a fair idea why he keeps cutting it despite his advisors advising him that he ought not wear his hair like a serf) but she knows that horrors like Asgard and her people have suffered are not lightly spoken of, if ever.

She understands; she herself has spoken very little of her time on Jotunheim and does not intend to say more.

Sometimes Thor just freezes, his chest rising too fast, too shallowly, his hands shaking. Sometimes he cannot eat, no matter what is put in front of him. At times he simply bursts into tears.

She is no better. Every time a cold wind cuts her to her core she remembers that room. She remembers his touch, cruel and sharp. She remembers his face. She gets so angry then, she cannot take it. She breaks things, rages and screams, she cries.

She apologises afterwards to whoever was around, but they all understand.

The children on Asgard don't properly understand what has happened; its worse for the Jotun halflings who tend to be avoided because they look like their other parent. There are far too many bad memories for the Aesir in those features. Thor tries to make life better for them but even he cannot bring himself to meet their pink eyes.

The older halflings, born earlier in the occupation, understand the stigma surrounding them, for they were treated the same way as the other Aesir by the Jotnar and in some cases worse. They take the younger ones, the ones who were too small to remember the terror, under their wing and try to help them understand without shaming them for their origins or breaking their innocence why the others avoid them. It is hard but they try their best. Thor gives them all he can.

The first full blooded Aesir child to be born after the occupation is broken is met with the first true celebration Asgard has had. The parents are flushed with pride but when the others coo over the girl they clutch her tighter, fear sharply present in them, and none push them. There is a feast, a much diminished feast from the days prior to the occupation, but a feast all the same.

Thor offers his personal congratulations to the parents and does not try to touch their daughter.

XX

It is Sif who takes the initiative and lifts the hem of Thor’s shirt one night in bed. She is shaking and Thor freezes, takes her hand and laces his fingers through it.

“No,” he says, voice cracking and so close to breaking. “No.” It is halfway to a plea and she can feel her heart race.

“I’m sorry,” she says, and keeps saying it. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have- I’m sorry.” Thor holds her to his chest and she clutches at him.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I want- but-” she nods in understanding.

“But,” she says, a tiny ghost of a smile on her lips.

XX

One day Sif walks in on Thor while he changes. She freezes as he pulls his shirt on and starts to scramble back. There are scars cut deep into his back that curve around his chest. They look like they come from nails- she turns her mind from the image of Loki hovering over him, clawing at him- blades, whips and teeth and she is horrified. Thor looks like he is going to collapse to his knees again when he hears her steps but holds himself upright, leaning against the wall and she flees, hears him whispering “No, no,” to himself.

“I’m so sorry,” she blurts out later.

Thor holds her.

“He bit me,” he says, voice tight. “He scratched me. He flogged me. Pulled my hair. When he was angry…” he shakes for a moment. “He did everything he could to hurt me. He was so angry.” His voice grows faint and fear tinges it. “All the time, he was so angry, and I don’t know what I did wrong…” Sif presses her lips to his in a desperate attempt to stem his tears.

“You didn’t,” she says. “You didn’t, what he did was his problem, not yours. No matter what he told you.”

Thor’s tears flow freely as he clings to her.

XX

That night, face set, he lets Sif push his shirt up. She runs her fingers over his scars and kisses them softly. He is stiff but he isn’t gone, and she sees fear in his eyes when she looks up but it isn’t getting any worse so she keeps going.

Finally he grasps for her and pushes her away.

“Sif,” he chokes, voice ragged, and yanks his shirt down.

“I’m here, Thor,” she says softly. She thinks he is going to start crying again but he doesn’t.

XX

Night after night Sif looks at Thor to see how he is and some nights he lets her push his shirt up again. One night he lets her take it off. He shivers in the cold air and draws his arms over his chest as he hides under the blanket but it is a victory and they both know it. Thor smiles very faintly at her.

“I love you,” he whispers, sounding terrified, and she can’t let him be afraid of that, not like he is of everything else.

“I love you too,” she murmurs and he relaxes very slightly.

XX

Thor puts his hands on Sif’s waist the next night and, barely daring to breathe, she lets him push her shirt up to expose her stomach before she stops him. She isn’t scarred like he is but she is very pale. He grips her hand and she clutches it for support.

“How did you let me do this to you?” she chokes out, face set, hardly able to keep her fear from her voice. His chuckle is slightly breathless.

“I don’t know,” he says and they both laugh. It is a hysterical laugh but it's better than crying. “We can’t let it rule us forever.”

“No,” Sif agrees and lifts her hands but Thor smooths it down instead of lifting it further.

“One night at a time,” he says.

“One night at a time,” she agrees and they sleep curled.

XX

It takes several nights for her to let him remove it all the way. The scars of the Jotun’s sharp nails mark her breasts and he hisses when he sees them, anger in his eyes.

“That’s nothing,” she says, voice shaking, “To your scars.”

“If you hadn’t already killed him I would rip him apart with my bare hands,” Thor says.

Sif quickly pulls her shirt back on and laughs breathlessly.

“That I would like to see,” she says.

XX

Thor's advisors start pushing for Thor to find a queen and have a heir.

"Asgard has no future without an heir," they argue and Thor looks down. "And she could use something to celebrate. The people need something to look forward to."

"Like a wedding?" Thor asks with a wry curl of his lips.

"Like a wedding, your Majesty."

Thor doesn't need to tell Sif that his advisors are pushing him to get married. Her long-suffering look tells him she's been put through the same arguments.

"They're not wrong," she says softly. Thor fixes his gaze on the ceiling.

"No," he admits. "But after... I don't know if I can..." Sif curls her fingers through his.

"Neither do I," she says.

When Thor tells his advisors that he and Sif are not yet ready to get married they just nod, all knowing exactly what he means.

XX

Marriage would mean that Asgard would expect an heir; Sif has barely been able to take her shirt off and Thor is no better. They cannot provide an heir, though they know that Asgard needs one, the people need hope for the future and he needs an official Queen. Thor draws in a deep breath.

Neither he nor Sif are ready but Asgard needs them to be. He closes his eyes and swallows.

"Thor?" Sif asks quietly and he startles for a moment before regaining himself.

"Asgard needs a Queen," he says, and turns to her. "I need a Queen." She swallows but keeps her eyes on him. His lips turn up in a wan smile. "I love you, Sif, and I want you to rule at my side." She is quiet for a long time.

"I love you too," she says, "But I can't-" Thor reaches forward and takes her hand.

"Neither can I," he says. "Let's just start with giving Asgard the Queen she deserves." Sif goes pink and looks down.

"Alright," she says and he can see her smile. He lifts her chin and kisses her.

XX

The news that they are to be married sweeps Asgard to wide-spread rejoicing. For the first time since the Jotnar were ousted the whole city is mobilised to prepare for the wedding and, seeing the new energy it gives the city, Thor knows he made the right choice.

"I didn't ask you for Asgard's sake," he tells Sif. "I asked you because I want to marry you, because I love you- but I am King, Sif, and I have to look after my city." Sif smiles at him.

"I know," she says.

"Had Asgard not needed this," he glances around and struggles for words.

"Do shut up," Sif says and he hears the echo of Loki snapping at him but, for once, it doesn't bother him.

XX

The last of the ice is chipped away and it is done brutally. New tapestries are woven to celebrate Asgard's liberation and a central theme in them is Thor banishing Loki. Thor cannot look at them. Replicas of old, destroyed tapestries are woven and Thor is glad that the history lives on. Any remaining tapestries the weavers were forced to make during the time of the Jotnar invasion are wrapped and put away. He would have destroyed them all but one of Thor's advisors tells him that if they burn all their history he will regret and Thor reluctantly agrees.

Thor finds Odin's armour and his chest tightens. He turns away, swallowing his tears back.

"I am sorry, Father," he whispers and longs for Gungnir. The spear was never found after the Aesir liberated themselves. "I have failed you."

"No," Sif says softly, "You have made him proud." He turns to her, eyes glittering with unshed tears.

"I lost Gungnir," he says. "I allowed Asgard to be taken and defiled. I allowed myself." He breaks off. Sif puts a hand on his shoulder.

"By the time you ascended the throne it was too late, the Allfather knew that. You drove the Jotnar from Asgard, you have restored her. You are a good King, Thor." Thor looks down.

"She's right," Frigga says softly and he jumps.

"Mother," he begins and she smiles gently. She looks more frail now but her eyes are the same as they ever were, strong and gentle.

"You have made me proud, and I know your father would be proud also." A tear slips down his cheek. She reaches up and catches it. "You are a good King, and you will be a fine Queen." She directs the last to Sif and her next words are to both of them. "You will bring Asgard into a new age."

Thor slips his hand into Sif's.

"I miss Father," he says and Frigga smiles at him gently.

"So do I," she says. "And your brother." Thor freezes, his lips parting. Sif stiffens but he eventually nods.

"Aye," he says, so softly she can hardly hear him, "I do as well." She knows he is thinking of the laughing boy he grew up with, knows the All-Mother is thinking of the same boy, but that boy died long ago.

XX

The wedding is grand. Food like Asgard hasn't seen in all the time since the Jotnar were driven out (it feels like yesterday they were prisoners in their own city but has been years; a mere blink of an eye) is laid out on the feasting tables and the drink is flowing. For perhaps the first time people are laughing loudly and freely and Sif and Thor could not be happier.

_It's over_ Thor realises; truly realises, for the first time. _It's over._

He squeezes Sif's hand and her eyes are sparkling as she squeezes it back.

XX

A celebration such as this feels wrong without the Warriors Three at their side. Volstagg would be eating as much as he could. Fandral would be telling exaggerated stories of his exploits in love and romance. Once enough drink was in him, Hogun would sing. Thor feels his heart clench.

Asgard has lost so much.

"They are in Valhalla," Sif says softly. "One day we will join them." He swallows as she wraps her arms around him.

"Yes," he says, voice thick. "One day we will."

He wonders where Loki will end up where he dies.

XX

After the wedding Frigga goes to Alfheim.

"Asgard is no longer my home," she says before she leaves. "And she is in safe hands." She squeezes Thor's hand and he looks so young and vulnerable.

"I need you, Mother," he says, his voice cracking. She smiles at him.

"You have Sif now," she says. "Together you will do great things for Asgard." Thor bows his head.

"I couldn't have," he begins. "Without you, I would have never-" she shushes him.

"It is over," she says. "Do not dwell on it." He draws in a shuddering breath and nods.

"Yeah," he breaths.

As he watches the bifrost take her away he grieves and hates Loki that little bit more. Sif squeezes his hand and he tries to smile at her but can't.

XX

It takes years for Thor and Sif to produce the long-awaited heir; years of working through their fears about sex, and even when they do have it they don't truly enjoy it. They never will again, it holds too many bad memories. But Asgard needs an heir and they do want a child so they keep trying.

When Sif announces her pregnancy there is widespread rejoicing and Thor is very protective of her.

"I'm not dying," she snaps at him, frustrated, but she understands his fear all the same. The pregnancy is stressful even though it goes smoothly and they mutually agree that after this child is born they will have no more.

"I don't want us to fight," Thor says, rubbing her belly. "But I need you to be safe, Sif- I can't lose any more." Sif leans back in his arms.

"I will be," she says, laying her hand on his.

XX

The child is a boy and Frigga returns to Asgard to see his birth. Thor and Sif name him Bruadar. He is the dream of a new Asgard, of a new future, a future where the young don't have to suffer and the old don't have to suffer further.

Bruadar is walking by the time Frigga returns to Alfheim.

"Bring him to visit me," she says. "You should visit more." Her words are playful but there is a gravity to them that Sif cannot understand.

"I would if I could," Thor says and they share a long look. Sif looks away and kneels by Bruadar as he points at a bird flying in the distance.

The moment is broken when Bruadar runs over and pulls on Thor's leg.

"Father," he says, holding his arms up in a demand to be picked up and Thor lifts him. Frigga kisses his forehead and Bruadar wraps his arms around her neck.

"Be a good boy," she tells him.

"Why are you leaving?" he demands and she laughs softly.

"I live with the elves," she says and his eyes light up. He twists in Thor's arms.

"Father, can we go to the elves?" he asks and Thor smiles as he pulls on his hair.

"Later," he says. "Now say goodbye to your grandmother."

"You stay safe," Frigga tells Thor and he rubs his wrists as he nods.

"And you, Mother," he says. They embrace and Thor steps back, holding Bruadar's hand as the bifrost takes Frigga back to Alfheim.

He wishes he could join her, be rid of this place and the memories it holds, but as Sif wraps an arm around his waist and Bruadar clambers onto his shoulders, gripping his hair in his tiny fists, he knows he wouldn't sacrifice his family for the whole of the nine Realms.


End file.
